


Purple Flame Extrusion

by DamienNo



Category: Undertale
Genre: Abuse, Anxiety, I'll add more tags when I think of them or need to add them, Other, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Reader Is Not Chara, Reader Is Not Frisk, Reader is a mage, Reader is named, Reader starts off as 17, Readers brother died lol, Sans is trying to help but feels like every other person in town lmao, Story isn't entirely developed yet either, Suicide, They don't like talking about it, i'm not sure, maybe? - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 12:37:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11806143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DamienNo/pseuds/DamienNo
Summary: Charlie is hopeful they'll be able to escape someday soon, when their 18th birthday arrives. That way, their parents can't legally bring them back home. And maybe, just maybe, they won't have to use their magic when they do escape.





	Purple Flame Extrusion

You stealthily lock your bedroom door, packing a few necessities you don’t already have prepared for your eventual magical outburst. You bought a new extinguisher, since you ran out of stuff last time, so that goes in, then a few clean towels, stuffing them into your emergency duffel bag along with a clean pair of clothes in case of… certain emergencies like burning your clothes or… needing a place to stay. 

 

Then, you throw open your bedroom window, with more or less perfect silence, and climb through with a short and brief prayer that your neighbors dogs don’t bark at you.

 

As you run down the dead end road, you map out the quickest route in your head to the spot you’ve come to know as a safe haven and hope with all your heart and soul that you can keep your magic within your control. The person at the end of the road knows your mom really personally, so you always go through the trees a few houses away from hers; always having to pick out ticks later in the night. But you can only hope that this won’t be the case this time. 

 

When you get onto the main road of the small town at the base of the mountain, you have to tell your Soul to calm the fuck down. It’s been two fucking years—you’d think you’d be able to control the magic flow better.

 

Two years ago, Monsters erupted from the side of the Mount Ebott and started to flood the streets of the small town, which freaked several people out. News reporters came down from the neighboring city to broadcast this. And a flux of New Mages had been reported as well with the freak accidents that happened all over town and in the city. Sometimes it would be fires with odd colors, such as electrical outbursts from angsty teens or upset baby boomers. 

 

But you, you didn’t get something like that. You were just messing around in a wooded area close to what's now known as the monster side of town—the safe haven—when suddenly purple flames shot out of your fingers. You spent a long time learning to control the flames, from practicing lighter tricks to controlling it to the point of breathing it out like a mother fucking dragon. Sure, that made it burn your throat at first, but now it’s a welcome tingling, like eating takis. You made a point not to use these newfound powers around family or unsuspecting pedestrians, of course. With the monsters request to strip New Mages of their magic so monsters can feel less threatened, considering humans already had advanced weaponry—oh. You’re here.

  
  


Sans had finally found a sound place to take a break in peace after a nightmare. Sure, the ground is oddly scorched, but it has a great view of the night sky without being insanely close to the mountain’s opening. It’s open;  quiet and far enough off the broken sidewalks of Ebott Town, too. But it’s still weird that the ground is so barren and scorched in the middle of a lusciously green wooded area. 

 

He briefly wonders about it every time he visits, but soon forgets it in favor of sorting out his mind. Today—or rather, tonight—he’s lazing around in the middle of the clearing, staring at the artistic way the setting sun paints the sky. Stars, he never gets tired of this. Every sunset and sunrise is different. 

 

A rustling noise breaks his calm, making him turn towards the opposite side of the clearing. From there a human barrels in: round face, button nose, oddly oval ears, black eyes with purple flashing in the lighting. They have short silver hair, and they’re wearing a silver septum with green and black gems on it, a black t-shirt and ugly green colored cargo pants. A duffel bag rests on their arm and an equally startled expression on their face as Sans’s own. A purple flame appearing from their finger dissipates.

 

“Uh… hi,” they say, their face contorting into what can only be described as a guilty child’s, making sure they don’t make eye contact with him.

 

“...hey.” Honestly, this is too awkward.

  
  


You do not expect a skeleton monster you’ve seen around the king and queen in news reports—commonly known as the judge—to be around your safe haven. Which, as it turns out, isn’t such a safe haven anymore. You’re sure he saw the flames you were about to toss into the clearing before you saw him. Which means you’re a soon-to-be-known New Mage. And you’re about to get in trouble with the monster community as well as your parents. 

 

You turn around to run out of the clearing. Which turned out to be in vain, since almost immediately, the skeleton pops up in front of you. Okie dokie, then. Teleportation. 

 

“That’s pretty neat.”

 

“thanks.”

 

“Am I gonna be taken in or whatever the procedure is for this?”

 

“nah, not yet.” You’d like to believe you make a sound that the embodiment of ‘????!?!?!??’ at his statement. He shrugs in response.

 

“’m the judge after all, be a shame if I didn’t give ya a fightin’ chance.”

 

“Uh…”

 

“why don’t ya get rid of yer pent up magic first. ‘ts fine. won’t do nothin’”

 

“Okay.” You slowly put your duffel bag on the ground, unzipping it to give easier access to extinguishers, and then walking out into the circle. The scorch marks from your last visit stare back at you and you give a small smile. But this isn’t the time to get sentimental. You have magic to get rid of.

 

You take in a deep breath, summoning the purple flames into your hands, and then move them into your throat. When you first started this, it took a lot of concentration, but now it takes just a right mindset and a thought. You take in another deep breath before parting your lips slightly, forming an ‘o’ with them, blowing out the breath, along with the flames.

 

The longer you breathe out, the lower the flames get, but all you have to do is take in another breath and repeat, opening your mouth out wider, still aiming them at the ground, sort of using them to draw in scorch patterns. You move around to get more of the drawing, going over the ones you made last time, not caring that you’re destroying old drawings. You occasionally aim at trees, adding them to the drawing. Soon, you run out of excess magic and start using some of your normal magic reserves, stopping shortly after so you don’t get too tired to walk home.

  
  


“that’s the strongest ‘ve seen a new mage,” the skeleton states, shocking you slightly. You forgot he was there. He’s walking lazily over to you. “but ya Soul showed me yer not a threat. so i’ll let ya go for now.”

Your eyes go wide for a second. “Uh… okay.”

 

“well, see ya.”

 

“See—” He pops out of existence, “… you.” 

 

Well. That was interesting.

 

You’re more or less reeling from the encounter with the Judge when you walk home. He just… let you go because you weren’t a threat according to whatever he saw when he judged your Soul? You’ve never heard of that before. And you being the strongest New Mage he’s met so far? Wouldn’t that alone make you more dangerous than any other New Mage he might’ve turned in before?

 

When you got close enough to your road, you head back into the woods to go around the person who knows your mom and will tell, then just continue on the road to your house. You feel paranoid that someone’s following you, but that could be your mind playing trick on you. Like always. But instead of writing it off, you often look behind you to make sure no one's there. A couple of times, you could’ve sworn you saw someone, but there’s not enough proof. Especially since it’s dark out. It could just be an animal or a trick of the mind. Who actually fucking knows?

 

You round the house you’ve lived in since you were nine years; the rotting wood panels on the side of the house that isn’t crumbling limestone is where you’re heading. That’s the side with your bedroom window. You carefully climb inside and close the window, covering it back up with the blanket you have in place of blinds. Your cat perks up, walking over to you and wrapping his large body around your legs.

 

“Hey, Bud,” You say, hefting him up in your arms; “anyone come while I was out?” Bud mewls in response and rubs his head on your face. You giggle, but it’s cut short by violent knocking on the door.

  
  


Sans has opted for watching this New Mage to see what things are like for them. He doesn’t expect the first thing he hears when he approached the house they disappeared into to be pounding and yelling. It sounds like things are getting thrown around as well. And occasionally, he can hear someone scream. And that someone sounds like them—or at least what he thinks would be them. 

 

Didn’t they have some old looking bruises and some new ones? Sans isn’t sure what to do with this new information. The neighbors come out for a split second, but soon go back inside. Some look tired and sad, especially when they spot Sans, but none seem to have an issue with him.

 

Someone bursts through the side of the house made of crumbling limestone. In their arms, a cat mewls up at them. It’s Charlie. Sans shortcuts to them in a flash. Up close, fresh wounds on their face bleed and swell. A cut on their forehead, a black eye, a bruise on the opposite cheek. 

 

“Get out of here, you idiot,” they basically yell at him once they realize who it is. “My parents, they’re—” They stop short as a door slams open, and Sans does the first thing that comes to mind.

  
  


“What the fuck?” You ask once everything stopped spinning. You’re back in the clearing.

 

“seemed like you were in a pickle. wanted to help.”

 

“You just made this worse. When I go back, I’ll get beat thrice as hard. It was bad enough I ran out of the house, that’s double, but disappearing suddenly like that and for who knows how long?”

 

“why do you  _ need _ to go back?”

 

“Because I’m not legally an adult! I’ll be forced to go back home; my parents can cover things up because they work or previously worked for the people who take children away from homes like mine, so no matter what I do I’ll be stuck.”

 

Your cat mewls again, grabbing your attention. You hug him closer and start crying softly, trying to calm down.

 

“seems like you’ve been through that before…”

 

“The neighbors wanted to help at first, but since my parents work for CPS… all their claims were put to rest easily, schools calling them could be dismissed as bullying until everyone stopped bullying me. And I haven’t been to a doctor in several years. They have everything covered. Except my job, of course, but no one really asks here anymore. Everyone knows, but no one can do anything about it.”

 

“shit, sorry…”

 

“Charlie.”

 

“sans, but you probably knew that.”

 

“Actually, I didn’t. My parents never kept the TV on long enough when monsters were on for me to know anyone’s names. They’re racist… or is it speciesist?”

 

“racist works just fine. but are you sure there’s nothing anyone can do?”

 

“Just take me home before they call their friends to search for me. The longer I’m gone, the worse it’ll be.”

 

Sans thinks for a few moments before replying. “... fine. but only if you agree to meet the king when you turn 18.” 

 

You hesitate to answer, but after a bit of pros and cons, you nod. He grabs your arm and teleports back to the forest across your house. They’re frantically searching the yard.

 

You hesitate again, not wanting to go just yet, fear churning up your stomach. Just breathe. It’s nothing you haven’t been through before. Just… breathe. And on a mental countdown, you walk out of the woods with your head held high. You’ll be fine; you always have been. You know what's coming.

  
  


Sans can’t help but worry about the well being of Charlie. It’s been a few weeks, and every day he returns to the clearing in case they’re there. Some days they are, but most days they’re not. Definitely not on a set schedule, either. Seems to be whenever they need to dispel excess magic. 

 

Which is exactly what they do, barely any words are spoken. They don’t seem to like talking much. And the way they looked the first time they visited after that night… stars.

 

Their face was almost completely fucked over; they had cuts and bruises visible everywhere on them, and their arm was broken, or at least fractured. It looked like they set their arm themself. Sans offered to set it for them, but they shied away from his touch. 

 

He didn’t know what he could do to help. Is this how the whole town feels? He asked a few of his work pals about them and they all adapted the same look their neighbors had. A few grew up with them and they said that it must’ve started around the time their brother died. Sans tried to bring him up, but they shut him down as soon as he said ‘brother’.

 

Today, when he had appeared, they were resetting their arm and taping a few toes together. One had been broken and the other dislocated. The fact they can differ between the two so easily is troubling. And that they walked all the way here on them… even more so.

 

“hey, kiddo, how about you at least let me feed ya?” he tries when they finish. They perk up at the mention of food.

 

“Do I have to pay for it?” they ask warily.

 

“nah. ‘s on me.”

 

“...Okay. But I can’t be gone very long.”

 

“i know.” He gently grasps their good arm and teleports in front of Grillby’s.

  
  


Sans leads you inside the restaurant, obviously making sure you don’t walk on your toes fully, and the first thing you notice is the guy made out of fire. Is this supposed to be a joke or something? Bring a fire powered New Mage to an establishment with a fire dude. Presumably named Grillby.

 

You side glance him, hopefully saying ‘really’ to him mentally. He seems to realize what you’re saying and snickers.

 

“completely on accident.”

 

“’Kay,” you say, turning back to the bar you’ve sat at. Seems like people around you are expecting something but it never comes to pass and they all kinda get disappointment on their faces. And that freaks you out slightly.

 

“Why do they look at me like that?”

 

“i usually pull pranks on the people i bring here. didn’t seem like you’d appreciate it so i didn’t.”

 

“Whoopee cushion?”

 

“whoopee cushion.”

 

“Try Nutella with a whoopee; make it look like they shat themselves.”

 

Sans bursts out laughing and you count that as a win. Grillby gives you a glare; you glare back. Sans doesn’t catch it, due to laughing so hard.

 

“thank you for imparting your magical wisdom, master of pranks.”

 

“Oh, I’m not. My brother was though. He taught me everything I know about pranks.”

 

“a brother? what was he like?”

 

You stay silent; you shouldn’t have even mentioned him. Sans seems to get the hint and just turns towards Grillby and orders two burgers and two fries. Neither of you speak the until the food comes out. But even then, it’s just to thank Grillby. The food is amazing, but you’re clouded by memories of him. Then the last memory you had. 

 

“He the best brother I could ask for. But I also hate him for leaving me alone with them,” you finally say halfway through your food. Sans looks at you with hazy eye lights. Interesting.

 

“’m sorry, kiddo.”

 

“No need to apologize for something you didn’t do.” You huff. 

 

Another long silence stretches through the meal. You’re about to take another bite; you’re in the last stretch of the burger, when he speaks back up.

 

“how did—”

 

“Suicide.” You cut him off, leaving no room for details, stuffing the rest of your burger in your mouth, asking for a thing for your fries. You can hide those from your parents with enough incense. Plus your dog would enjoy them if you couldn’t finish them. As soon as your food is boxed up, you stand and walk towards the door. Through the noise of other patrons of the bar and grill, you hear Sans tell Grillby to put it on his tab and catches up to you, offering to take you home. You decline.

 

You hate talking about your brother.

  
  


Sans feels bad when he doesn’t see the kid for the rest of the week, or the next few after that. He got so worried that he tried dropping by many times, just to see if… they weren’t too hurt. But the fighting and screaming coming from where they live says otherwise. They ran out of the house once, their parents following closely. The father gripping them by their bad arm.

 

The roughness of that motion caused them to cry out, which caused the father to grip it harder and lift it closer to him, which means it’s straight behind them, bending a supposedly unbendable part of their arm sharply. And a sickening crack and a louder cry tells Sans he just broke it again. Maybe in another place, maybe re-breaking what had been healing on its own.

 

Sans couldn’t watch any more of that scene, so he left—as sad as it was that he had to—but he knows there’s nothing he can do until they have a birthday, until they stop avoiding him. He knows they fill up on magic every two to four days, and it’s been well over that amount of time.

 

He has no idea where they’re going to release their magic buildups, but he sure wishes he could follow them. But, again, he can’t, and he’s falling into a depression over it. Is that why the whole town just… ignores it? Stars… it’s… so… sad.

 

Sadder than getting trapped underground for hundreds of years. Sadder than being born into the undergrounds suffering. They have the world just a door away, yet no friends to venture into it with; no way to go out into it without sneaking through the window—they told him that’s how they get out of the house unnoticed one day in the clearing. It’s so sad.

 

He wishes he could do more than hope they don’t die from all this.

  
  


You can’t face Sans again.

 

It’s so hard to, after all—he kept asking you questions about your brother. The grieving stages never left you when you got a grip on what his limp body and all the blood on the floor of the bathroom meant.

 

Your dad didn’t even cry, he just started hurting  _ you _ instead. And your mother's grief turned into her hurting you as well. Of course, your parents never hurt you at the same time. Dad usually hurt you worse when Mom was away, since your mom has a steady going job.

 

Your dad just waits until he’s called in. You can’t remember if he was fired or he quit his job at CPS, but now he just works for the railroad. Sometimes Mom worked later, and that’s when your dad decides to hurt you at night. Usually, it’s preserved for Mom and her less harmful beatings, but when she’s gone, he gets to harm you worse.

 

To rid of magic, since going to the clearing is a sure way to see Sans, you’ve been practicing close to home. Those woods across the street really come in handy, despite not having a big enough clearing.

 

Usually, you avoided this one ‘cause of the memories. Hell, your old bag is still here—even if it’s in pieces—along with the broken knife and roughed-up blanket also left behind when you were younger. Back when you weren’t the one getting hurt. It’s better remembering this kind of thing on your own. You don’t have to verbalize anything you remember, and you don’t have to remember something if you don’t want to. Sometimes at least.

 

That’s what you’re doing today. Chilling in the childhood clearing, calmly practicing magic while getting rid of the excess, fire extinguisher close by—it’s easier to set fire to something here, tighter space and all—and a pair of eye lights staring at you.

  
  


Sans followed them today, completely by accident. He happened to blip in around the time they had shifted the window to their room open. He had been behind the neighbor's house, watching from the corner. And he followed them across the road, making sure they didn’t notice him. And across the road, they went across a short field—most likely used as a yard at some point if the fences are of any indication—and slipped under a barbed wire fence spanning the whole backside of several yards on the road.

 

They had hesitated before doing so, looking to another yard similar to the one they’re walking through, except it has a few broken down cars—windows smashed in; rust flaking off around the wheels and seats damaged beyond repair; but otherwise in perfect condition—but continued into a small crowd of trees in the far corner of the yard. There, they did the thing, slipping under the fence carefully enough to where they only got caught on the end of their shirt.

 

Sans popped into the strip of long grass between the woods and the fence once they had disappeared into the trees. And it was hard making his footsteps so quiet trying to see what's in the place he has to blip to when there’s too much crunching ahead of him.

 

That’s how he found the edge of the clearing close to an old trail probably used for cars once upon a time. It’s overgrown, so Sans can’t move comfortably through it without making much noise, which is why he had to find a good spot before they got here. 

 

And after they did, he watched what they did the whole time. When they reached the clearing, they had sighed sadly, picking up a tattered blanket and pack from the ground, moving it over to the side and placing their emergency bag on top. They had also picked up a handle of… a knife, the blade long gone, but they held it like it was an old friend before tossing it to the woods. They stood for a moment, looking at where they had thrown it before their shoulders sag and head over to where it probably landed and picking it back up again. Something sentimental about this place is obvious to Sans by now.

 

They had pocketed the handle once they got back into the clearing, closer than before, and he noticed that it isn’t just the handle there is still a piece of metal just barely peaking through the faded black handle.

 

Soon after they pulled the extinguisher they carry on their person every visit to a place like this— makes sense; half the trees are dead and burnable as it is, it’s just grass and vines here—and gets started on releasing pent up magic. Without knowing Sans is watching, they move more graceful, occasionally aiming the flames upwards in a dance Sans can’t believe isn’t in a movie. Impressive.

 

But a chance glance where he’s hiding causes them to stop dead in their dance. The calm, almost sad look is replaced with fear for a split second before they recognize him; although, the darkness probably makes it hard for them to see any more than his eye lights. Well, no use pretending he’s not here. Sans takes a wary step into the clearing.

 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” they say once they’ve calmed their racing pulse.

 

“got worried, haven’t seen ya in weeks.”

 

“So? Leave.”

 

“why?”

 

“Just leave.”

 

Sans steps closer. “if it’s about ya bro-”

 

“ _ Leave. _ ” They’re summoning magic into their hands, fire flickering to life in them. Sans backs off a bit, but not much. From here, Sans can see tears pricking the edges of their eyes, even in the low light.

 

“not until ya talk to me about him.”

 

“No.”

 

“then I ain’t leavin’.”

 

Charlie huffs, looking the other way dissipating their magic from their hands before going over to their emergency bag, packing the extinguisher away and placing the blanket and bag back where they were before.

 

“Then I will,” they say, walking away. Sans lets them go, and for the next long while, he doesn’t see them again, no matter where he goes. To the clearing, to the smaller one or even watching their parents house. The fights are still there, but they never come back out of their house, not even running out. The screams make it apparent that it’s not gotten any better, either. Sans just became more useless to this situation than he meant to. And he made them pent up even more magic.

 

This won’t end well.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! It's ya boi, Dami. I've had this fanfic in the works for a long time now trying to perfect it as much as fuckin possible. I started the rough draft two years ago. And it's still in the works. I have roughly 5-7 chapters via rough draft. Maybe.
> 
> New chapters may not come out regularly. It's mostly a vent/motivation thing for me, so whenever I feel like or need to, I write.
> 
> [Come Bother Me](http://thekingdamien.tumblr.com/)


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